Haunting-Adeline

fear. But also from something else. Something so disturbing, I refuse to put
a name to it.
He doesn’t answer, but he does grin—a slow, sinful twist of his lips that
sends sparks ski ering down my spine.
With delibera on, his tongue darts out and licks his bo om lip. My eyes
zero in on the movement. The act primal. Animalis c. And fucking
terrifying.
My heart starts to claw its way up my throat. Swallowing it back down, I
narrow my eyes and open my mouth to yell at him some more.
Before I can, he takes a single step back. And though I can’t see it, I know
he’s giving me a once-over. Then he turns and walks away.
Just like that.
Not a single word spoken. Not an explana on offered. Not even a crazy
confession of how he wants us to be together or some shit.
Nothing.
I stand there and watch his retrea ng form, going back to whatever
portal from Hell he crawled out of. I stare un l he’s gone, and I begin to
contemplate if I really have lost my mind, and just imagined the whole
thing.
Surely, I wouldn’t be so stupid to confront a psychopath. The very
psychopath that cut off a man’s hands and le them on my doorstep.
But that’s precisely what I did. And he did nothing in return, except lick
his lips at me like he plans to feast on me.
Oh no, what if I have a second-coming of Jeffrey Dahmer stalking me?
Heart back in my throat, I turn and rush back inside, feeling like Lucifer’s
hounds are nipping at my asscheeks. And when I shut and lock the door
behind me, I look back to the rocking chair I was si ng in and see the knife
lying haphazardly on the floor, next to the footstool.
Oh my God.
I confront a psycho and I drop the knife on the ground instead of
bringing it with me.
God, why did you make me the way that I am? Next life me, can you not
do such a shi y job?